Greasing the Jam
by proMISSes
Summary: John returns home one day from doing the shopping to find Sherlock in a state of distress. Attempting to console his friend, things start to get steamy between the two, culminating in a night neither of them will soon forget. Rated M for slash smut


Sherlock turned from where he was pacing in front of the mantle, swinging John's cane from his shoulder as he did so. It was an annoying habit he'd picked up, stealing John's old cane to gesture with whenever he spoke. On many occasions, John had tried hiding it, but although the flat itself was a mess, Sherlock always knew when something was out of place. He always found the cane not an hour after John hid it.

"Where were you?" Sherlock asked, a note of genuine surprise in his voice.

"Doing the shopping," John said, unfazed. He was used to Sherlock not noticing his comings and goings by now.

"I hadn't noticed. Cup of tea while you're at it?" Sherlock said, resuming his pacing in front of the mantle.

"Yeah, sure," John said, heading to the kitchen, his arms still laden with bags that he hadn't even considered asking Sherlock to help with. He never did.

As John unloaded the jam and tea and pickled beets from the bags, his eyes strayed over an extra bag. This was not an ordinary shopping trip, this time. Sherlock had been particularly tense over the last few weeks, ever since Irene left, and John had an idea about how to fix his friend. He could still hear Sherlock pacing in the other room as he put the kettle on, so he assumed he was safe to check over the contents of the bag one last time.

Everything he needed for a cozy night in was contained in that shopping bag. A bottle of wine, which he put in the fridge to chill, whipped cream "for a 'snack'" John thought, licking his lips a little, his favorite romantic comedy, to be watched on his laptop since Sherlock had destroyed the television last week on accident, and, of course, his favorite self-warming lube.

John poured two cups of tea, careful not to let any stain his cream jumper, and added two lumps of sugar to Sherlock's, just the way he liked it, and placed them on a tray to take in to where Sherlock waited. He sat down on the sofa, placing the tray on the stained coffee table and taking a sip from his cup while he watched Sherlock pace.

"Sherlock," he said when it became apparent that his friend had no intention of ceasing that obnoxious movement.

"What is it?"

"Your tea," John said patiently.

"Ah. Yes, good. Thank you," Sherlock said. John patted the spot next to him on the sofa gently.

"Sherlock, I think it's time we had a talk," he said.

"Why would we need to do that?"

"Because your obsession with this woman is bordering on unhealthy," John said, taking a deep breath. This would not be an easy conversation to have. Sherlock sat down on the sofa, crossing one leg over the other and holding the cup of tea in one hand.

"What makes you say that?"

"She's all you ever think about it. Greg and Mrs. Hudson have both noticed it. Bloody Anderson even said something to me about it the other day," John said, wincing as he remembered that particular conversation. It had ended with John walking away before he did something stupid, like punching Anderson in his abnormally large nose.

"They're all blowing things out of proportion. There is nothing about my behavior to denote my continuing affections for Ms. Adler," Sherlock said, taking a sip of his tea.

"Right, yeah, because the constant pacing isn't a dead giveaway," John said. Sherlock looked at him sharply. He wasn't a fan of sarcasm unless he was the one using it, John knew, so he tried to calm himself down a little. Arguing was not the point of this conversation.

"Yes, well. The point is, I think I can help you."

"You do?"

"Yes. I think I can take your mind off of Irene," John said, setting his cup of tea down. He looked directly into Sherlock's deep blue eyes and slowly moved his hand from where it rested on his own leg onto Sherlock's. Keeping his eyes on Sherlock, John moved his hand upwards on Sherlock's leg until he reached the point of no return, his palm on Sherlock's heated crotch.

"John, may I inquire what you are doing?"

"I think you know," John said huskily. He began rubbing at Sherlock's flaccid member, trying to bring life into his partner's heated loins.

"I'm afraid I don't," Sherlock said brusquely. He took John's hand and placed it back in John's lap, standing up and crossing the room.

John just watched him move, his face starting to burn with humiliation.

"John, I do apologize if I have misled you in any way. But I simply do not see the point in sexual endeavors, with you or with anyone else. I must insist that you cease all thoughts in that respect. I consider myself, as I have told you before, married to my work. I do not harbor any feelings like those you may have been experiencing, either towards yourself or anyone else."

John just sat there, feeling his face becoming even redder with each word. He wished he could disappear into his soft woolen jumper as though none of this had ever happened. His hand felt suddenly dirty and he stood up suddenly, retreating to the safety of the kitchen. Taking the bottle of wine out of the refrigerator, he downed half of it before returning to the living room where Sherlock still stood, rather stiffly.

"But I bought lube!" John slurred drunkenly.

"I think it's best if you leave," Sherlock said curtly. "I have taken the liberty of calling your sister. She will be here within the hour. Please pack your things."

John drank the last half of the bottle of wine in four long swigs, letting it fall to the floor. He grabbed his bottle of lube and the whipped cream out of the kitchen and went to wait for Harry outside. Mrs. Hudson bade him goodbye as Harry pulled up outside the flat.

"Sorry, dear," she said. "Maybe it's for the best, though. You know how Sherlock gets."

John didn't even bother dignifying that with a reply as he climbed into Harry's car.


End file.
